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tikificTitle: Library Card (Los Desaparecidos, Chapter 5 of 6)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (that ship has sailed); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.
Word Count: 5,400 this chapter, ~30,000 total
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.
Notes: The penultimate chapter. See, I say penultimate. Oh, and the Seattle library is a real building. I sincerely apologize for what I do to it here, though it's nothing more than what a bunch of architectural critics have wished upon it since it was built.
“They hid the book in a damn liberry?” asked Bobby upon appearing somewhere in downtown Seattle. They stood underneath a rather glorious and elaborate multistory glass-walled structure.
It looks like a Disney cartoon, thought Dean, who hoped there wouldn't be dancing mice or any shit like that.
The group included Bobby and Rufus, Castiel, Dean, Sam, Crowley, and Jo Harvelle, the latter of whom the combined pleadings of Bobby and Dean and her mother could not keep from the mission. She was a brave kid, Dean had to admit it.
“Needle, meet haystack,” she now grumbled.
“I understand you lot have never been inside such an institution,” smiled Crowley.
“Why didn’t you just steal the damned book yourself, Crowley?” asked Bobby.
“And run afoul of the librarians?” shuddered Crowley. “They scare me more than the bloody angels.”
“They are of a lower rank,” said Castiel. “But have their own powers.”
The group blinked at Castiel. “Librarians are angels?” asked Dean.
“This is not well known?” inquired Castiel innocently.
“Let’s get going,” said Dean impatiently. He tapped the microphone on the bluetooth-looking device he was wearing. He had agreed to use it for the job even though he thought it made him look like a douche. “Testing one two three.” He heard some moans and saw people cringing.
“The volume, love,” sighed Crowley. “Turn it down. You sound like an angel trying to sing showtunes.”
“Angels have lovely voices,” said Castiel.
“If you don't mind your eardrums bleeding,” said Crowley.
“One two three?” said Dean, after fiddling with the settings. “OK. We have our plan? We go in separately so as not to attract attention. Bobby and Rufus are gonna look in nonfiction, Jo and me will go up to Special Collections and look there, and Sam is gonna search the catalog.”
“And once it’s located, I’ll check it out. Because I have a library card,” said Sam, holding it up proudly to the moans and eye rolls of the rest of the group.
“And we need to go quickly, because we don’t know who’s watching,” said Dean. He turned to Crowley and Castiel. “And you guys cruise in the getaway car,” he told them.
“I’m sorry?” said Castiel.
“He’ll be Bonnie, I shall be Clyde,” grinned Crowley.
“Uh, Crowley? You remember the end of that movie?” asked Dean.
Crowley's good eye squinted. “Er. And then again, maybe we’ll just be us,” he said.
“I wish I could accompany you,” Castiel told Dean.
“Yeah, I understand,” said Dean, who stood close to Cas for a moment.
“Angels love libraries,” said Castiel, staring wistfully at the building.
“Uh, really? Well, that's two new facts I know today,” said Dean. He nodded and the human members of his elite assault squad were off on their dangerous mission: checking a book out of a library.
Sam confidently sauntered in first, probably glad to be back to his natural habitat, Dean thought. Bobby and Rufus were next. Dean desperately hoped the two old hunters could behave themselves for an hour.
After waiting an appropriate time, he beckoned to Jo, and they walked together into the building. Sam had told him Special Collections was up at the top floor, so they walked quietly up the spiral ramp that wound through the middle of the building, pausing only a moment to nod at Rufus and Bobby, who were peering at the stacks. And sneaking a flask, Dean noticed with chagrin.
Fortunately the Special Collections desk was being manned by what looked like the world's most bored teenager, who popped her gum and barely acknowledged Dean and Jo when they signed in (as Gamble and Huff).
“Religious books, is what Sam says we're looking for,” Dean whispered to Jo, even though she already knew as he had already told her this at least a dozen time. She had been completely silent on their walk upstairs, though she had been giving Cas some sharp looks today. Dean halfway wondered if she sensed what was going on with him and Castiel. Dean thought about it and realized even he wasn't quite sure what was going on with him and Cas. I started fucking a supernatural being because he smells really good, thought Dean.
“Dean,” said Jo softly, as if on cue.
Here it comes, thought Dean. They were deep into the Special Collections section, over near one of the big, broad floor-to-ceiling window lattices, far out of earshot or sight of the disinterested clerk. He shot a glance down to the street below, wondering if he could spot Cas and Crowley hanging out. They would probably pass the time bickering, he thought. Even though he understood the angel still wasn’t 100% recovered from his holy oil burns, Dean had brought Cas along partly to watch out for Crowley. He didn't quite trust the demon to wait for them if things went sideways.
“Yeah?” Dean told Jo distractedly. It did seem a weird time to bring up puppy love.
“It's all right,” said Jo, coming up close behind him.
“What?” Now she had his attention.
“You and Cas. It's all right with me.”
“Uh. Well. That's good.” He felt, as he had a number of times before, a small hand entwine with this. This is interesting, he thought, the hunt for the book now cast aside.
Suddenly, he felt his arm wrenched behind him.
That was definitely new.
“Uhh. Jo...?”
“Don't fucking move.”
Dean felt the sharp steel at his throat. He flicked his eyes up to the window, trying to catch the reflection. Jo was behind him.
Her eyes were black.
Keep calm keep calm keep calm.
It took all of Dean's self-control not to wrest away from her. He had the same creepy-crawly feeling he'd gotten when that demon cop had opened its eyes. But she was close. So close. He could swear he smelled rotten eggs. He shuddered.
“You knew all along Ellen got the wrong book last time, didn't you?” Dean asked her. “You nearly killed your mom, you know.”
“Heh. Wasn't my mom,” the demon who was not Jo told him.
“Jo? You're not in there any more?”
“SHUT UP!”
They both looked over towards where the clerk was sitting. She's still in there, somewhere, thought Dean. Ellen's daughter. Remember that.
“Now, what you'll do,” the demon told him, “You'll use that little phone thing and call everybody here. And then we'll talk.” She emphasized the last by jabbing with the blade. Dean felt a thin rivulet of blood trickle down his neck.
“And you'll kill them. You'll kill them all.”
“And your little dog too,” she chuckled. “Nah. Maybe we'll just talk. Maybe we can trade. I'd love to stick this into your little angel. Like you've been sticking it to the angel, huh?”
“Lay off the knife. So I can talk,” Dean choked. She hesitated, and then the pressure on his neck lessened slightly.
“Guys,” Dean said into the phone. “Jo and I located the object. Let's all assemble in Special Collections. Then we can go get cherry pie.”
“Get what?” asked the demon.
The noise.
Ten thousand fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.
Light fixtures fizzled and popped. The stacks shook. The floor vibrated
The Jo-demon cried and loosened her grasp a fraction, and Dean gripped her knife hand turned them both around.
The piercing noise rose to a shrieking climax, and the entire window, a good fifteen feet, floor to ceiling, started to crack apart, white hairline fracture marks spreading and spreading.
Dean put an elbow in Jo's gut and she fell towards the buckling window. He dove for the floor, for cover, behind the stacks. But Jo – or the demon who was Jo – slipped and fell through the shattering window, body flailing amidst shards and shards and more shards, sharp little diamonds falling everywhere.
“CROWLEY!” Dean shouted, praying that he was heard. The piercing noise had abruptly stopped, but now every car alarm in the city was wailing. “Crowley get us out of here. Now now now!”
He smelled sulfur.
And then he was lying face down in the dirt. Bobby's compound.
Dean sprang up and looked around. Did Crowley get everyone? Bobby and Rufus were there, looking disoriented as hell.
Crowley was standing there, tapping his foot, wearing a pair of earmuffs and rolling his eyes.
And there was Castiel, holding a bleeding, unconscious Jo cradled safely in his arms.
“Is she OK? Is she alive?” Dean asked, running over.
“You might inquire as to the state of my hearing!” grumbled Crowley, tossing away the earmuffs.
“That was my true voice,” apologized Castiel.
“Wow,” said Dean.
“But I was only whispering,” added Cas.
“How is Jo?” asked Dean as Bobby and Rufus hurried over.
“She is alive,” said Castiel, who was looking concerned. “I can repair the superficial damage,” he said. “But....”
“He caught her,” said Crowley. “Mid-air. I must reluctantly admit, that was rather impressive. You might have had a career in the major leagues, my boy.”
“I am low ranked in the host,” Castiel told him seriously.
“Is she still possessed?” asked Dean.
“Possessed?” asked Bobby. “Jo?”
Castiel nodded sadly. “She was evincing signs of demonic possession when I caught her.” He looked up at Dean. “I am sorry I did not realize this before, Dean.”
“She demon-ed out and threatened me in the library,” Dean explained. “That's why I used the code word on Cas.”
“A code word?” asked Bobby.
“Dean arranged with me beforehand that the phrase 'cherry pie' signaled that rescue was indicated,” explained Castiel.
“You two had a secret signal?” asked Bobby.
“I'm paranoid,” shrugged Dean.
“Good boy,” Bobby told Dean, whacking him on the back. “That's like something your old man would've done.
Dean smiled.
Rufus put a hand on Jo's forehead. “Can you get it out of her, Cas? The demon?”
“Rufus, I am sorry. My methods of extracting demons are … crude. I may end up … damaging her further.”
“You could get it out. But you'd kill her,” said Bobby solemnly. The angel looked heartbroken.
“How we gonna tell Ellen?” said Rufus.
“It'll kill her,” said Bobby. “What a clusterfuck. We got a man down, and we didn't even get that fucking book. If the fucker even exists.”
“Hey!” said Sam, who was just walking up to the group.
“Oh, shit! Sam! I forgot!” said Dean, who ran to his brother.
Sam was holding a book.
“Is that it?” asked Dean.
“Yeah!” grinned Sam, handing the book to Dean. “I saw on the computer it had just been checked out and returned, so I found the carts waiting to go back in the stacks. I was just grabbing it when Crowley grabbed me.”
“Oh, I wish I'd grabbed you, dear,” smiled Crowley, which got a scowl from Sam.
“Hey, is Jo OK?” asked Sam.
“She is possessed,” said Castiel.
“Oh. Fuck!” said Sam.
“Holy fuck. Hey, did you look at the card in here?” asked Dean, who was leafing through the crumbling book. He had stopped at the last page and pulled out the card showing who had checked out the book previously. “This has gotta be a joke. Right?”
Bobby leaned over and peered at the card. He grabbed it from Dean. “Jesus,” he said.
“What? Who is it?” asked Crowley. “I am quivering with anticipation.”
Bobby held up the card so they could all see.
The last name written on the lined card was “John Winchester.”
Castiel lay back on Dean's bed and contemplated the infinite.
Also, orgasms were nice. Why hadn't anyone told him about that?
During the first few weeks and months Castiel had worn a human vessel – a mere blink in his long lifetime, but a substantial period to the frail humans – he had regarded it as he thought a human might regard a suit of clothes. Something to cover the nakedness, and to prevent evoking eardrum hemorrhages with his true voice.
He had chosen the visage of someone who could easily be disregarded, someone who seemed small and unremarkable. The disguise, such as it was, had worked. But he had also begun to learn something of humankind: something that only became visible close up, though he had delighted in watching his father's fragile children as they had flitted upon the eons.
Humans did not just urge him to eat: they inevitably wanted him to eat the same food they were eating, and to eat sitting at the table next to them, syncing up for purposes he did not quite grasp at first. It was important that Bobby had around the same flask of the crude alcoholic beverage, and that each drank in turn of the small, corn alcohol sacrament.
Dean Winchester was like this, only even more so. Castiel must sit in the car beside him; must sit and sip coffee beside him; must lie down beside him and feign sleep.
Must lie beneath him, touching, and being touched.
The ineffable.
Why didn't angels do this? Share the unspoken like this?
Dream together like this?
What the fucking crud was wrong with them?
Dean said something. They had finished with the sexual intercourse part, and had moved on to the interlude where Dean would drift off to sleep with his arms and maybe a leg encircling Castiel's vessel.
“Thanks for, you know, saving my ass today.”
This required a response. Castiel brought himself back and ran the sentence through his translation scheme. American standard English, circa the Twenty-First century.
“It is my role as guardian to protect you. So gratitude is unnecessary,” was the first thing he tried. No, something more was needed. This is a human, remember that. “Um. But the offering of thanks is appreciated?”
He heard Dean chuckle and felt him tighten the grip. “You're a screwball. You know that?”
“I know that reference!” Castiel exclaimed. “A screwball is a baseball pitch. It causes much difficulty for the person in the batting position.” He thought it through. Dean always said things that meant other things that meant other things. It was a great game. “So.... I'm difficult to hit? No.”
He could feel Dean now shaking with laughter. Dean pushed Castiel on his back and climbed on top of him. “I just mean you don't think like … anyone. Anything. Ever. I never know what you're gonna say.”
Castiel thought again. His human seemed pleased. This was good. It wasn’t quite what he had expected when he had taken on the role of guardianship. So many unexpected things had happened since he had come to earth. “Didn't you want to dream now, Dean?”
“Yeah, I'm gonna sleep. Is that … you in my dreams?”
Castiel nodded happily. “Yes, I enjoy visiting your dreams.” Dean had different dreams. There were a few peaceful ones, like the one sitting out on a dock in what appeared to be summertime. There were quite a few that weren't so pleasant, but that could be dealt with. Last night Dean had been a small boy hiding from the monster in his closet. Cas had slain the monster, and then he created a small version of himself so they could spend the rest of the dream playing cowboys. As angels did not grow from children Castiel had not had the equivalent of a human childhood, so he found the experience fascinating.
“So, you don't sleep, but you can dream?” asked Dean, who was yawning now and obviously about to sink into sleep.
“I can experience your dreams,” said Castiel. “I do not think angels have a similar state,” he added. He thought, why didn’t my Father give us sweet dreams? His Father was perfect, after all. But it seemed a grievous oversight.
“Well. That was cool that you killed the boogeyman like that,” Dean muttered. He had his arms around Castiel again, and was beginning to drift off.
“I am your guardian. You do not need to give thanks,” Cas answered. But he heard only a soft snore in return.
Good. Cowboys were cool.
“You made coffee? I love you darling?” said Dean, mouthing a smooch at his brother and making a beeline to the coffee pot.
Sam rolled his eyes and sipped at his Hell Hazers II coffee mug. “Dean, you know what you're doing?”
“Believe me, little bro, know what I'm doing,” grinned Dean, hopping up on a stool next to Sam.
“Really? 'Cause, what if you get him pregnant or something?”
Dean spat coffee. “What the fuck?” he laughed. “How is that even possible?”
“He told me the other day that angels aren't really male or female,” said Sam.
“What, really? Anyway, he's definitely male. I've studied this. Extensively.”
Sam sniffed. “Look. I've seen you with the girlfriends. And a couple boyfriends. And the I-don't-know-what....”
“Oh, was that the month I decided to wear mascara?”
Sam looked daggers at his brother. “Look. I know how your relationships go, Dean. Isn't he supposed to be our guardian angel?”
“Yeah. So?”
Sam sighed. “Remember Diana Sully?”
“Ooo, what a rack,” said Dean, his eyes lighting up.
“I mean after you broke up?”
“Oh,” said Dean, scratching his head. “Yeah. Flaming hell bitch.”
“Dean! She was just a human!” raved Sam. “This is a supernatural being! What if you do your usual and piss him off?”
“Well. I won't,” said Dean, though a little uncertainly. “Besides, guys don't get as pissed off as girls.”
“Fred Miller?”
“Oh. Well.” Dean blew on his coffee. “He was always a little twitchy.” He scowled over at his brother. “Besides. Is this really about me?”
“What do you mean?” asked Sam, who was suddenly very intrigued by his copy of Hot Slutz Monthly.
“You ever call Jess?”
“I'm disappeared, Dean. I don't exist any more,” said Sam crossly.
“You want to call Jess?”
Sam folded up the magazine and scowled. “I think it's better this way.” Dean didn't reply, but kept a stare, so finally Sam tossed the magazine away and said, “Look, why are you on my ass about this? You never liked Jess anyway.”
“That's not true,” said Dean. “What I never liked,” he said, going to grab the magazine off the floor, “is that she didn't like you.”
“What? That's crazy,” said Sam.
“She wanted to be the wife of some lawyer. And then you switched to biochemistry. Geek.”
“Asshole,” said Sam.
Dean smiled and hopped back up on the barstool and opened the centerfold.
“I guess...” Sam started. “I guess I thought it would be something like Dad had with Mom.”
“Do you even remember Mom?” asked Dean.
“Well. No. But I remember Dad enough to know it ripped his heart out when she died. I thought.... I guess I thought she would be my soulmate. Jess. That she would grow into my soulmate. But that's not what happened.”
Dean sipped coffee, not having any idea in hell what to say at the memory of Mary Winchester. He didn't remember his mother well either: he only knew that what Sam said was true. John always acted like a part of himself had been stolen in her death.
“Good morning, Sam. Good morning, Dean,” said Castiel.
“Hey, Cas, lemme show you this,” said Dean, pulling Castiel over to rest his back against Dean's legs. “You see this?” he asked, proffering the centerfold.
“That is human pornorgraphy, isn't it?”
“Yeah, correct. And, you're not pissed at me for looking at it?”
Castiel peered at the pictures of exposed human body parts, and then shot confused glances at Dean and then Sam. “I am supposed to be angry?” he asked.
“You don't think they're attractive, Cas?” asked Sam.
“How could I be attracted to them, Sam? I do not know the women in question,” he said. “Perhaps if we met, and I began to learn about them, then I would begin to find them attractive.”
“Dean,” said Sam, as his brother had suddenly adopted a thoughtful look. “No.”
“What?” asked Dean.
“No, you're not bringing porn actresses here to meet Cas,” said Sam.
“I wasn't thinking that!”
“You were totally thinking that.”
“Should we get out to Bobby's?” asked Castiel.
Dean and Sam now exchanged a much more serious look. “We should,” said Dean.
“Yeah, we should,” agreed Sam. They finished their coffee in relative silence, and then after showers and pulling on clothes and, admittedly, a bit more procrastination, all three emerged and walked down the driveway to the car.
To Dean's surprise, Castiel hopped in the back seat of the Impala. “Cas! You're supposed to yell, 'Shotgun!'” he told the angel.
“Shotgun.”
Dean looked over to where Sam was standing at the passenger side door, smiling softly. Dean nodded, and Sam climbed in. Dean got in too and started the engine, glad to be doing something, although he wasn't looking forward to the afternoon at Bobby's place, experimenting with their new “neutron bomb” spell.
“Why all the long faces? I should have stayed at the farm.”
“Crowley!” said Dean as the demon suddenly appeared in the back seat. “For fuck's sake. Cas. Could you draw one of those pentackle dealies on my car somewhere? So I don't have this fucker popping in?”
“Oh, you wouldn't want to force me to stay at Bobby's,” sighed Crowley. “Everyone is being such a grump.”
“Ellen's daughter is possessed, and may die,” said Sam, even though he knew it was hopeless.
“Have you heard her, though?” asked Crowley, sitting forward. “Jo Harvelle makes a rather excellent demon! Why, if you don't want to try out this foolishness, she could come work for me!”
“Work for you doing what?” asked Dean. “Feeding your imaginary dog?”
“He has an imaginary pet?” asked Sam.
“He is invisible, not imaginary,” grumbled Crowley. “You should come out some time and visit, Sam. We could have dinner. And maybe some oral sex.”
“Crowley!” barked Dean as Sam slipped down in the seat.
“Can’t you banish him. Or something?” asked Sam miserably.
“Would you like me to banish him, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Oh, this little cherub couldn't banish me,” scoffed Crowley.
“Don't call me a cherub,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, sure, send him off, Cas,” said Dean.
Castiel smiled at Crowley, who looked uncertain. Then Cas snapped his fingers.
“Whoa, where'd he go?” asked Dean.
“He is on the farm. I sent him into a pile of swine excrement,” said Cas, who was smiling in a most unangelic manner.
“Heh,” said Dean. He looked over at Sam, who was glaring at him.
“See what I meant about making him angry?” Sam whispered.
Dean checked the rear view mirror, looking at Castiel. He shrugged at Sam. “Uh, Cas?” he asked.
“Yes, Dean?”
“You know how you had the hunters at Bobby’s all snowed that you were some crazy homeless guy?” asked Dean.
Cas caught Dean's eye in the mirror, and then seemed to deliberately stare out the window. “We rarely have snowstorms in this part of the country,” he said.
“Cas!”
The angel shot Dean a look, and he momentarily wondered if he was going to be teleported into pigshit as well. “I wan't completely frank. With Bobby,” Castiel finally admitted. “But you saw for yourself that he harbors … attitudes. Towards my kind.”
“Look, Cas, I understand. And, you weren't entirely clear with Crowley either, then? He doesn't know who you are?”
Castiel was now studying the floor. He bent over and picked up something. Dean peered into the rearview. It was a small orange LEGO block.
“Perhaps I have not been entirely forthcoming with Crowley,” said Castiel.
“OK. So, are you gonna come clean with me?” asked Dean.
Castiel turned the LEGO block over and over. “I was a soldier. I commanded a garrison. Of my brothers and sisters.”
“So you're like a general?” asked Sam disbelievingly.
“I was. Something like that. Then word came down.” The LEGO block turned over and over. “Someone was needed. To watch over you. I volunteered. I donned a human vessel. And I watched. And the more I watched, the more I desired. I wanted to … help you.” Dean noticed Castiel's voice seemed to break on the last phrase.
“There's nothing wrong with that. I could use some help,” said Dean. “We all need help.”
“No! I am not supposed to desire things! Not for me!” Castiel told him, tossing away the LEGO block.
“Why the hell not?” asked Dean.
“I'm not human. I am not like you, Dean. I was made to obey. Without question.”
“Cas,” said Sam. “You said your orders came from up high?”
“Yes.”
“So you talk to, you know...?” asked Sam hiking his thumb upwards. Dean studied the rearview closely.
“I do not talk to Him,” said Castiel. “I have never talked to Him. Not directly.”
“So who does see Him?” asked Dean.
Castiel was silent for a moment. “You wished me to tell you everything,” he finally whispered. Sam and Dean both leaned back a fraction. “The truth is, nobody has seen Him. Not for a very long time.”
“Wait! Nobody.... You mean God has gone missing?” asked Dean.
“My Father has gone missing,” said Cas.
“Whoa. Existential!” said Sam.
The mood out at the farm was as crappy as Crowley had described.
Crowley had evidently darted out to clean up, as he was wearing a completely different outfit. He glared at Castiel, but the angel glared back, and then Dean noticed with pleasure that Crowley suddenly seemed to spot something very interesting on the ground.
There weren't a whole lot of people around. “I sent most everybody packing,” Bobby told them. “In case we have another clusterfuck.” He turned to Ellen. “And I tried to get this one away, too,” he said softly.
“I'm not deserting my little girl,” said Ellen, her eyes ringed red.
“It'll be OK, Ellen. Right Cas? We got the right spell this time,” said Dean, turning to Castiel.
“I cannot promise that,” Castiel told him firmly.
“You could lie,” said Dean.
“I thought you wished me to stop lying and become unsoiled?” said Castiel.
“You shouldn't lie! I mean. Unless you do,” sighed Dean. “Look, it's complicated,” he said, throwing his hands up in confusion.
“We should probably quit our bitchin' and go,” said Bobby, who was holding the book.
“Sam should read the spell,” said Castiel.
“Sam? I dunno about that,” said Dean.
“Hey! Yeah. I could do it,” said Sam, grabbing the book from Bobby. He read off the first few words of the spell.
“How the hell do you know Latin?” asked Dean.
“Biologist. Remember?” asked Sam, pointing to his own head.
“We got ourselves a scholar,” smiled Bobby. “Come on, nitwits.”
Dean hesitated, hanging back after the others had started to move towards the bunker. When had his damned kid brother suddenly decided he was The Exorcist, he wondered. When Dean wasn't even sure he was set on this hunter’s life.
He felt eyes on him, and looked up to see Castiel patiently awaiting him.
“I'm worried, Cas,” said Dean.
“I promise you, Dean Winchester. I will do everything in my power … to prevent Crowley from singing again.”
Dean looked at the angel in shock.
“That was.... That was supposed to be a joke,” said Castiel, who now looked worried.
“Yeah,” said Dean, squeezing Cas' arm and grinning. “That was actually a great joke.” He slung an arm around the angel's shoulders and the two of them made their way into the bunker.
The ritual went much as Dean remembered before, except that his brother was now in charge of reading the spell, Ellen having been banished outside the bunker, under much protest.
Crowley was there, looking annoyed. He had assured them this “little spell” would have absolutely no effect on him. He had been quiet since Castiel had banished him, only occasionally stealing sour glances at the angel.
“You dumb fucks,” the demon who possessed Jo taunted. “You'll kill yourselves. And the little girl!” She was chained up in the same chair where they'd held the demon cop, right in the center of what Dean now knew was a devil's trap.
“Oh fuck off,” sighed Bobby, who was mixing together this and that. “You ready, Sam?”
Sam nodded, and Bobby sent a match into his bowl of whatever. Dean wrinkled his nose: same terrible smell as before. It may have been even worse.
Sam began to chant in Latin. There was no effect for a worrying long time, but then, as before, the demon threw her head back and began to projectile vomit black smoke. But this time, it did not cease: in fact, it poured out, nearly filling the small room.
Dean choked. Castiel reached out a steading arm.
“Keep reading, boy!” Bobby urged.
Dean peered through the smoke at his brother. Sam, he thought, looked like the one possesed. He had one finger tracing across the text of the book on the table beneath him, and one arm now pointed at the demon. There was a strange glow in his eyes.
The floor began to rattle. The rattle turned to a massive vibration. The entire bunker was swaying back and forth, like a ship caught in a tempest.
Sam kept reading.
The demon wailed.
There was a great silent pressure, like a blast wave. It knocked Dean to the floor. And then a terrible roar.
And then, silence.
He heard a moan.
“Jo?” asked Bobby, who had scrambled to his feet.
The girl blinked. “Bobby?” she asked.
“Wow!” said Dean.
But then there was a huge slam, bigger than before, and he was knocked back down.
Dazed, Dean pushed himself off the floor.
The hardwood floor.
He rolled over and looked around.
He was no longer in the bunker. This was someone's house. It was pretty snazzy, like Crowley's place, but it didn't look like Crowley's.
Crowley was there, on the floor as well, and Cas was lying beside Dean.
And there was Sam, sitting up, still holding the book in his lap.
“Well, so good of you boys to stop by!”
Dean jumped to his feet and blinked at the figure standing in the shadows at the end of the large room.
“Dean,” said Sam, who was now standing beside him. “Is that...?”
Dean held a protective arm across his brother.
“Dad?” he asked.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (that ship has sailed); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.
Word Count: 5,400 this chapter, ~30,000 total
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.
Notes: The penultimate chapter. See, I say penultimate. Oh, and the Seattle library is a real building. I sincerely apologize for what I do to it here, though it's nothing more than what a bunch of architectural critics have wished upon it since it was built.
“They hid the book in a damn liberry?” asked Bobby upon appearing somewhere in downtown Seattle. They stood underneath a rather glorious and elaborate multistory glass-walled structure.
It looks like a Disney cartoon, thought Dean, who hoped there wouldn't be dancing mice or any shit like that.
The group included Bobby and Rufus, Castiel, Dean, Sam, Crowley, and Jo Harvelle, the latter of whom the combined pleadings of Bobby and Dean and her mother could not keep from the mission. She was a brave kid, Dean had to admit it.
“Needle, meet haystack,” she now grumbled.
“I understand you lot have never been inside such an institution,” smiled Crowley.
“Why didn’t you just steal the damned book yourself, Crowley?” asked Bobby.
“And run afoul of the librarians?” shuddered Crowley. “They scare me more than the bloody angels.”
“They are of a lower rank,” said Castiel. “But have their own powers.”
The group blinked at Castiel. “Librarians are angels?” asked Dean.
“This is not well known?” inquired Castiel innocently.
“Let’s get going,” said Dean impatiently. He tapped the microphone on the bluetooth-looking device he was wearing. He had agreed to use it for the job even though he thought it made him look like a douche. “Testing one two three.” He heard some moans and saw people cringing.
“The volume, love,” sighed Crowley. “Turn it down. You sound like an angel trying to sing showtunes.”
“Angels have lovely voices,” said Castiel.
“If you don't mind your eardrums bleeding,” said Crowley.
“One two three?” said Dean, after fiddling with the settings. “OK. We have our plan? We go in separately so as not to attract attention. Bobby and Rufus are gonna look in nonfiction, Jo and me will go up to Special Collections and look there, and Sam is gonna search the catalog.”
“And once it’s located, I’ll check it out. Because I have a library card,” said Sam, holding it up proudly to the moans and eye rolls of the rest of the group.
“And we need to go quickly, because we don’t know who’s watching,” said Dean. He turned to Crowley and Castiel. “And you guys cruise in the getaway car,” he told them.
“I’m sorry?” said Castiel.
“He’ll be Bonnie, I shall be Clyde,” grinned Crowley.
“Uh, Crowley? You remember the end of that movie?” asked Dean.
Crowley's good eye squinted. “Er. And then again, maybe we’ll just be us,” he said.
“I wish I could accompany you,” Castiel told Dean.
“Yeah, I understand,” said Dean, who stood close to Cas for a moment.
“Angels love libraries,” said Castiel, staring wistfully at the building.
“Uh, really? Well, that's two new facts I know today,” said Dean. He nodded and the human members of his elite assault squad were off on their dangerous mission: checking a book out of a library.
Sam confidently sauntered in first, probably glad to be back to his natural habitat, Dean thought. Bobby and Rufus were next. Dean desperately hoped the two old hunters could behave themselves for an hour.
After waiting an appropriate time, he beckoned to Jo, and they walked together into the building. Sam had told him Special Collections was up at the top floor, so they walked quietly up the spiral ramp that wound through the middle of the building, pausing only a moment to nod at Rufus and Bobby, who were peering at the stacks. And sneaking a flask, Dean noticed with chagrin.
Fortunately the Special Collections desk was being manned by what looked like the world's most bored teenager, who popped her gum and barely acknowledged Dean and Jo when they signed in (as Gamble and Huff).
“Religious books, is what Sam says we're looking for,” Dean whispered to Jo, even though she already knew as he had already told her this at least a dozen time. She had been completely silent on their walk upstairs, though she had been giving Cas some sharp looks today. Dean halfway wondered if she sensed what was going on with him and Castiel. Dean thought about it and realized even he wasn't quite sure what was going on with him and Cas. I started fucking a supernatural being because he smells really good, thought Dean.
“Dean,” said Jo softly, as if on cue.
Here it comes, thought Dean. They were deep into the Special Collections section, over near one of the big, broad floor-to-ceiling window lattices, far out of earshot or sight of the disinterested clerk. He shot a glance down to the street below, wondering if he could spot Cas and Crowley hanging out. They would probably pass the time bickering, he thought. Even though he understood the angel still wasn’t 100% recovered from his holy oil burns, Dean had brought Cas along partly to watch out for Crowley. He didn't quite trust the demon to wait for them if things went sideways.
“Yeah?” Dean told Jo distractedly. It did seem a weird time to bring up puppy love.
“It's all right,” said Jo, coming up close behind him.
“What?” Now she had his attention.
“You and Cas. It's all right with me.”
“Uh. Well. That's good.” He felt, as he had a number of times before, a small hand entwine with this. This is interesting, he thought, the hunt for the book now cast aside.
Suddenly, he felt his arm wrenched behind him.
That was definitely new.
“Uhh. Jo...?”
“Don't fucking move.”
Dean felt the sharp steel at his throat. He flicked his eyes up to the window, trying to catch the reflection. Jo was behind him.
Her eyes were black.
Keep calm keep calm keep calm.
It took all of Dean's self-control not to wrest away from her. He had the same creepy-crawly feeling he'd gotten when that demon cop had opened its eyes. But she was close. So close. He could swear he smelled rotten eggs. He shuddered.
“You knew all along Ellen got the wrong book last time, didn't you?” Dean asked her. “You nearly killed your mom, you know.”
“Heh. Wasn't my mom,” the demon who was not Jo told him.
“Jo? You're not in there any more?”
“SHUT UP!”
They both looked over towards where the clerk was sitting. She's still in there, somewhere, thought Dean. Ellen's daughter. Remember that.
“Now, what you'll do,” the demon told him, “You'll use that little phone thing and call everybody here. And then we'll talk.” She emphasized the last by jabbing with the blade. Dean felt a thin rivulet of blood trickle down his neck.
“And you'll kill them. You'll kill them all.”
“And your little dog too,” she chuckled. “Nah. Maybe we'll just talk. Maybe we can trade. I'd love to stick this into your little angel. Like you've been sticking it to the angel, huh?”
“Lay off the knife. So I can talk,” Dean choked. She hesitated, and then the pressure on his neck lessened slightly.
“Guys,” Dean said into the phone. “Jo and I located the object. Let's all assemble in Special Collections. Then we can go get cherry pie.”
“Get what?” asked the demon.
The noise.
Ten thousand fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.
Light fixtures fizzled and popped. The stacks shook. The floor vibrated
The Jo-demon cried and loosened her grasp a fraction, and Dean gripped her knife hand turned them both around.
The piercing noise rose to a shrieking climax, and the entire window, a good fifteen feet, floor to ceiling, started to crack apart, white hairline fracture marks spreading and spreading.
Dean put an elbow in Jo's gut and she fell towards the buckling window. He dove for the floor, for cover, behind the stacks. But Jo – or the demon who was Jo – slipped and fell through the shattering window, body flailing amidst shards and shards and more shards, sharp little diamonds falling everywhere.
“CROWLEY!” Dean shouted, praying that he was heard. The piercing noise had abruptly stopped, but now every car alarm in the city was wailing. “Crowley get us out of here. Now now now!”
He smelled sulfur.
And then he was lying face down in the dirt. Bobby's compound.
Dean sprang up and looked around. Did Crowley get everyone? Bobby and Rufus were there, looking disoriented as hell.
Crowley was standing there, tapping his foot, wearing a pair of earmuffs and rolling his eyes.
And there was Castiel, holding a bleeding, unconscious Jo cradled safely in his arms.
“Is she OK? Is she alive?” Dean asked, running over.
“You might inquire as to the state of my hearing!” grumbled Crowley, tossing away the earmuffs.
“That was my true voice,” apologized Castiel.
“Wow,” said Dean.
“But I was only whispering,” added Cas.
“How is Jo?” asked Dean as Bobby and Rufus hurried over.
“She is alive,” said Castiel, who was looking concerned. “I can repair the superficial damage,” he said. “But....”
“He caught her,” said Crowley. “Mid-air. I must reluctantly admit, that was rather impressive. You might have had a career in the major leagues, my boy.”
“I am low ranked in the host,” Castiel told him seriously.
“Is she still possessed?” asked Dean.
“Possessed?” asked Bobby. “Jo?”
Castiel nodded sadly. “She was evincing signs of demonic possession when I caught her.” He looked up at Dean. “I am sorry I did not realize this before, Dean.”
“She demon-ed out and threatened me in the library,” Dean explained. “That's why I used the code word on Cas.”
“A code word?” asked Bobby.
“Dean arranged with me beforehand that the phrase 'cherry pie' signaled that rescue was indicated,” explained Castiel.
“You two had a secret signal?” asked Bobby.
“I'm paranoid,” shrugged Dean.
“Good boy,” Bobby told Dean, whacking him on the back. “That's like something your old man would've done.
Dean smiled.
Rufus put a hand on Jo's forehead. “Can you get it out of her, Cas? The demon?”
“Rufus, I am sorry. My methods of extracting demons are … crude. I may end up … damaging her further.”
“You could get it out. But you'd kill her,” said Bobby solemnly. The angel looked heartbroken.
“How we gonna tell Ellen?” said Rufus.
“It'll kill her,” said Bobby. “What a clusterfuck. We got a man down, and we didn't even get that fucking book. If the fucker even exists.”
“Hey!” said Sam, who was just walking up to the group.
“Oh, shit! Sam! I forgot!” said Dean, who ran to his brother.
Sam was holding a book.
“Is that it?” asked Dean.
“Yeah!” grinned Sam, handing the book to Dean. “I saw on the computer it had just been checked out and returned, so I found the carts waiting to go back in the stacks. I was just grabbing it when Crowley grabbed me.”
“Oh, I wish I'd grabbed you, dear,” smiled Crowley, which got a scowl from Sam.
“Hey, is Jo OK?” asked Sam.
“She is possessed,” said Castiel.
“Oh. Fuck!” said Sam.
“Holy fuck. Hey, did you look at the card in here?” asked Dean, who was leafing through the crumbling book. He had stopped at the last page and pulled out the card showing who had checked out the book previously. “This has gotta be a joke. Right?”
Bobby leaned over and peered at the card. He grabbed it from Dean. “Jesus,” he said.
“What? Who is it?” asked Crowley. “I am quivering with anticipation.”
Bobby held up the card so they could all see.
The last name written on the lined card was “John Winchester.”
Castiel lay back on Dean's bed and contemplated the infinite.
Also, orgasms were nice. Why hadn't anyone told him about that?
During the first few weeks and months Castiel had worn a human vessel – a mere blink in his long lifetime, but a substantial period to the frail humans – he had regarded it as he thought a human might regard a suit of clothes. Something to cover the nakedness, and to prevent evoking eardrum hemorrhages with his true voice.
He had chosen the visage of someone who could easily be disregarded, someone who seemed small and unremarkable. The disguise, such as it was, had worked. But he had also begun to learn something of humankind: something that only became visible close up, though he had delighted in watching his father's fragile children as they had flitted upon the eons.
Humans did not just urge him to eat: they inevitably wanted him to eat the same food they were eating, and to eat sitting at the table next to them, syncing up for purposes he did not quite grasp at first. It was important that Bobby had around the same flask of the crude alcoholic beverage, and that each drank in turn of the small, corn alcohol sacrament.
Dean Winchester was like this, only even more so. Castiel must sit in the car beside him; must sit and sip coffee beside him; must lie down beside him and feign sleep.
Must lie beneath him, touching, and being touched.
The ineffable.
Why didn't angels do this? Share the unspoken like this?
Dream together like this?
What the fucking crud was wrong with them?
Dean said something. They had finished with the sexual intercourse part, and had moved on to the interlude where Dean would drift off to sleep with his arms and maybe a leg encircling Castiel's vessel.
“Thanks for, you know, saving my ass today.”
This required a response. Castiel brought himself back and ran the sentence through his translation scheme. American standard English, circa the Twenty-First century.
“It is my role as guardian to protect you. So gratitude is unnecessary,” was the first thing he tried. No, something more was needed. This is a human, remember that. “Um. But the offering of thanks is appreciated?”
He heard Dean chuckle and felt him tighten the grip. “You're a screwball. You know that?”
“I know that reference!” Castiel exclaimed. “A screwball is a baseball pitch. It causes much difficulty for the person in the batting position.” He thought it through. Dean always said things that meant other things that meant other things. It was a great game. “So.... I'm difficult to hit? No.”
He could feel Dean now shaking with laughter. Dean pushed Castiel on his back and climbed on top of him. “I just mean you don't think like … anyone. Anything. Ever. I never know what you're gonna say.”
Castiel thought again. His human seemed pleased. This was good. It wasn’t quite what he had expected when he had taken on the role of guardianship. So many unexpected things had happened since he had come to earth. “Didn't you want to dream now, Dean?”
“Yeah, I'm gonna sleep. Is that … you in my dreams?”
Castiel nodded happily. “Yes, I enjoy visiting your dreams.” Dean had different dreams. There were a few peaceful ones, like the one sitting out on a dock in what appeared to be summertime. There were quite a few that weren't so pleasant, but that could be dealt with. Last night Dean had been a small boy hiding from the monster in his closet. Cas had slain the monster, and then he created a small version of himself so they could spend the rest of the dream playing cowboys. As angels did not grow from children Castiel had not had the equivalent of a human childhood, so he found the experience fascinating.
“So, you don't sleep, but you can dream?” asked Dean, who was yawning now and obviously about to sink into sleep.
“I can experience your dreams,” said Castiel. “I do not think angels have a similar state,” he added. He thought, why didn’t my Father give us sweet dreams? His Father was perfect, after all. But it seemed a grievous oversight.
“Well. That was cool that you killed the boogeyman like that,” Dean muttered. He had his arms around Castiel again, and was beginning to drift off.
“I am your guardian. You do not need to give thanks,” Cas answered. But he heard only a soft snore in return.
Good. Cowboys were cool.
“You made coffee? I love you darling?” said Dean, mouthing a smooch at his brother and making a beeline to the coffee pot.
Sam rolled his eyes and sipped at his Hell Hazers II coffee mug. “Dean, you know what you're doing?”
“Believe me, little bro, know what I'm doing,” grinned Dean, hopping up on a stool next to Sam.
“Really? 'Cause, what if you get him pregnant or something?”
Dean spat coffee. “What the fuck?” he laughed. “How is that even possible?”
“He told me the other day that angels aren't really male or female,” said Sam.
“What, really? Anyway, he's definitely male. I've studied this. Extensively.”
Sam sniffed. “Look. I've seen you with the girlfriends. And a couple boyfriends. And the I-don't-know-what....”
“Oh, was that the month I decided to wear mascara?”
Sam looked daggers at his brother. “Look. I know how your relationships go, Dean. Isn't he supposed to be our guardian angel?”
“Yeah. So?”
Sam sighed. “Remember Diana Sully?”
“Ooo, what a rack,” said Dean, his eyes lighting up.
“I mean after you broke up?”
“Oh,” said Dean, scratching his head. “Yeah. Flaming hell bitch.”
“Dean! She was just a human!” raved Sam. “This is a supernatural being! What if you do your usual and piss him off?”
“Well. I won't,” said Dean, though a little uncertainly. “Besides, guys don't get as pissed off as girls.”
“Fred Miller?”
“Oh. Well.” Dean blew on his coffee. “He was always a little twitchy.” He scowled over at his brother. “Besides. Is this really about me?”
“What do you mean?” asked Sam, who was suddenly very intrigued by his copy of Hot Slutz Monthly.
“You ever call Jess?”
“I'm disappeared, Dean. I don't exist any more,” said Sam crossly.
“You want to call Jess?”
Sam folded up the magazine and scowled. “I think it's better this way.” Dean didn't reply, but kept a stare, so finally Sam tossed the magazine away and said, “Look, why are you on my ass about this? You never liked Jess anyway.”
“That's not true,” said Dean. “What I never liked,” he said, going to grab the magazine off the floor, “is that she didn't like you.”
“What? That's crazy,” said Sam.
“She wanted to be the wife of some lawyer. And then you switched to biochemistry. Geek.”
“Asshole,” said Sam.
Dean smiled and hopped back up on the barstool and opened the centerfold.
“I guess...” Sam started. “I guess I thought it would be something like Dad had with Mom.”
“Do you even remember Mom?” asked Dean.
“Well. No. But I remember Dad enough to know it ripped his heart out when she died. I thought.... I guess I thought she would be my soulmate. Jess. That she would grow into my soulmate. But that's not what happened.”
Dean sipped coffee, not having any idea in hell what to say at the memory of Mary Winchester. He didn't remember his mother well either: he only knew that what Sam said was true. John always acted like a part of himself had been stolen in her death.
“Good morning, Sam. Good morning, Dean,” said Castiel.
“Hey, Cas, lemme show you this,” said Dean, pulling Castiel over to rest his back against Dean's legs. “You see this?” he asked, proffering the centerfold.
“That is human pornorgraphy, isn't it?”
“Yeah, correct. And, you're not pissed at me for looking at it?”
Castiel peered at the pictures of exposed human body parts, and then shot confused glances at Dean and then Sam. “I am supposed to be angry?” he asked.
“You don't think they're attractive, Cas?” asked Sam.
“How could I be attracted to them, Sam? I do not know the women in question,” he said. “Perhaps if we met, and I began to learn about them, then I would begin to find them attractive.”
“Dean,” said Sam, as his brother had suddenly adopted a thoughtful look. “No.”
“What?” asked Dean.
“No, you're not bringing porn actresses here to meet Cas,” said Sam.
“I wasn't thinking that!”
“You were totally thinking that.”
“Should we get out to Bobby's?” asked Castiel.
Dean and Sam now exchanged a much more serious look. “We should,” said Dean.
“Yeah, we should,” agreed Sam. They finished their coffee in relative silence, and then after showers and pulling on clothes and, admittedly, a bit more procrastination, all three emerged and walked down the driveway to the car.
To Dean's surprise, Castiel hopped in the back seat of the Impala. “Cas! You're supposed to yell, 'Shotgun!'” he told the angel.
“Shotgun.”
Dean looked over to where Sam was standing at the passenger side door, smiling softly. Dean nodded, and Sam climbed in. Dean got in too and started the engine, glad to be doing something, although he wasn't looking forward to the afternoon at Bobby's place, experimenting with their new “neutron bomb” spell.
“Why all the long faces? I should have stayed at the farm.”
“Crowley!” said Dean as the demon suddenly appeared in the back seat. “For fuck's sake. Cas. Could you draw one of those pentackle dealies on my car somewhere? So I don't have this fucker popping in?”
“Oh, you wouldn't want to force me to stay at Bobby's,” sighed Crowley. “Everyone is being such a grump.”
“Ellen's daughter is possessed, and may die,” said Sam, even though he knew it was hopeless.
“Have you heard her, though?” asked Crowley, sitting forward. “Jo Harvelle makes a rather excellent demon! Why, if you don't want to try out this foolishness, she could come work for me!”
“Work for you doing what?” asked Dean. “Feeding your imaginary dog?”
“He has an imaginary pet?” asked Sam.
“He is invisible, not imaginary,” grumbled Crowley. “You should come out some time and visit, Sam. We could have dinner. And maybe some oral sex.”
“Crowley!” barked Dean as Sam slipped down in the seat.
“Can’t you banish him. Or something?” asked Sam miserably.
“Would you like me to banish him, Dean?” asked Castiel.
“Oh, this little cherub couldn't banish me,” scoffed Crowley.
“Don't call me a cherub,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, sure, send him off, Cas,” said Dean.
Castiel smiled at Crowley, who looked uncertain. Then Cas snapped his fingers.
“Whoa, where'd he go?” asked Dean.
“He is on the farm. I sent him into a pile of swine excrement,” said Cas, who was smiling in a most unangelic manner.
“Heh,” said Dean. He looked over at Sam, who was glaring at him.
“See what I meant about making him angry?” Sam whispered.
Dean checked the rear view mirror, looking at Castiel. He shrugged at Sam. “Uh, Cas?” he asked.
“Yes, Dean?”
“You know how you had the hunters at Bobby’s all snowed that you were some crazy homeless guy?” asked Dean.
Cas caught Dean's eye in the mirror, and then seemed to deliberately stare out the window. “We rarely have snowstorms in this part of the country,” he said.
“Cas!”
The angel shot Dean a look, and he momentarily wondered if he was going to be teleported into pigshit as well. “I wan't completely frank. With Bobby,” Castiel finally admitted. “But you saw for yourself that he harbors … attitudes. Towards my kind.”
“Look, Cas, I understand. And, you weren't entirely clear with Crowley either, then? He doesn't know who you are?”
Castiel was now studying the floor. He bent over and picked up something. Dean peered into the rearview. It was a small orange LEGO block.
“Perhaps I have not been entirely forthcoming with Crowley,” said Castiel.
“OK. So, are you gonna come clean with me?” asked Dean.
Castiel turned the LEGO block over and over. “I was a soldier. I commanded a garrison. Of my brothers and sisters.”
“So you're like a general?” asked Sam disbelievingly.
“I was. Something like that. Then word came down.” The LEGO block turned over and over. “Someone was needed. To watch over you. I volunteered. I donned a human vessel. And I watched. And the more I watched, the more I desired. I wanted to … help you.” Dean noticed Castiel's voice seemed to break on the last phrase.
“There's nothing wrong with that. I could use some help,” said Dean. “We all need help.”
“No! I am not supposed to desire things! Not for me!” Castiel told him, tossing away the LEGO block.
“Why the hell not?” asked Dean.
“I'm not human. I am not like you, Dean. I was made to obey. Without question.”
“Cas,” said Sam. “You said your orders came from up high?”
“Yes.”
“So you talk to, you know...?” asked Sam hiking his thumb upwards. Dean studied the rearview closely.
“I do not talk to Him,” said Castiel. “I have never talked to Him. Not directly.”
“So who does see Him?” asked Dean.
Castiel was silent for a moment. “You wished me to tell you everything,” he finally whispered. Sam and Dean both leaned back a fraction. “The truth is, nobody has seen Him. Not for a very long time.”
“Wait! Nobody.... You mean God has gone missing?” asked Dean.
“My Father has gone missing,” said Cas.
“Whoa. Existential!” said Sam.
The mood out at the farm was as crappy as Crowley had described.
Crowley had evidently darted out to clean up, as he was wearing a completely different outfit. He glared at Castiel, but the angel glared back, and then Dean noticed with pleasure that Crowley suddenly seemed to spot something very interesting on the ground.
There weren't a whole lot of people around. “I sent most everybody packing,” Bobby told them. “In case we have another clusterfuck.” He turned to Ellen. “And I tried to get this one away, too,” he said softly.
“I'm not deserting my little girl,” said Ellen, her eyes ringed red.
“It'll be OK, Ellen. Right Cas? We got the right spell this time,” said Dean, turning to Castiel.
“I cannot promise that,” Castiel told him firmly.
“You could lie,” said Dean.
“I thought you wished me to stop lying and become unsoiled?” said Castiel.
“You shouldn't lie! I mean. Unless you do,” sighed Dean. “Look, it's complicated,” he said, throwing his hands up in confusion.
“We should probably quit our bitchin' and go,” said Bobby, who was holding the book.
“Sam should read the spell,” said Castiel.
“Sam? I dunno about that,” said Dean.
“Hey! Yeah. I could do it,” said Sam, grabbing the book from Bobby. He read off the first few words of the spell.
“How the hell do you know Latin?” asked Dean.
“Biologist. Remember?” asked Sam, pointing to his own head.
“We got ourselves a scholar,” smiled Bobby. “Come on, nitwits.”
Dean hesitated, hanging back after the others had started to move towards the bunker. When had his damned kid brother suddenly decided he was The Exorcist, he wondered. When Dean wasn't even sure he was set on this hunter’s life.
He felt eyes on him, and looked up to see Castiel patiently awaiting him.
“I'm worried, Cas,” said Dean.
“I promise you, Dean Winchester. I will do everything in my power … to prevent Crowley from singing again.”
Dean looked at the angel in shock.
“That was.... That was supposed to be a joke,” said Castiel, who now looked worried.
“Yeah,” said Dean, squeezing Cas' arm and grinning. “That was actually a great joke.” He slung an arm around the angel's shoulders and the two of them made their way into the bunker.
The ritual went much as Dean remembered before, except that his brother was now in charge of reading the spell, Ellen having been banished outside the bunker, under much protest.
Crowley was there, looking annoyed. He had assured them this “little spell” would have absolutely no effect on him. He had been quiet since Castiel had banished him, only occasionally stealing sour glances at the angel.
“You dumb fucks,” the demon who possessed Jo taunted. “You'll kill yourselves. And the little girl!” She was chained up in the same chair where they'd held the demon cop, right in the center of what Dean now knew was a devil's trap.
“Oh fuck off,” sighed Bobby, who was mixing together this and that. “You ready, Sam?”
Sam nodded, and Bobby sent a match into his bowl of whatever. Dean wrinkled his nose: same terrible smell as before. It may have been even worse.
Sam began to chant in Latin. There was no effect for a worrying long time, but then, as before, the demon threw her head back and began to projectile vomit black smoke. But this time, it did not cease: in fact, it poured out, nearly filling the small room.
Dean choked. Castiel reached out a steading arm.
“Keep reading, boy!” Bobby urged.
Dean peered through the smoke at his brother. Sam, he thought, looked like the one possesed. He had one finger tracing across the text of the book on the table beneath him, and one arm now pointed at the demon. There was a strange glow in his eyes.
The floor began to rattle. The rattle turned to a massive vibration. The entire bunker was swaying back and forth, like a ship caught in a tempest.
Sam kept reading.
The demon wailed.
There was a great silent pressure, like a blast wave. It knocked Dean to the floor. And then a terrible roar.
And then, silence.
He heard a moan.
“Jo?” asked Bobby, who had scrambled to his feet.
The girl blinked. “Bobby?” she asked.
“Wow!” said Dean.
But then there was a huge slam, bigger than before, and he was knocked back down.
Dazed, Dean pushed himself off the floor.
The hardwood floor.
He rolled over and looked around.
He was no longer in the bunker. This was someone's house. It was pretty snazzy, like Crowley's place, but it didn't look like Crowley's.
Crowley was there, on the floor as well, and Cas was lying beside Dean.
And there was Sam, sitting up, still holding the book in his lap.
“Well, so good of you boys to stop by!”
Dean jumped to his feet and blinked at the figure standing in the shadows at the end of the large room.
“Dean,” said Sam, who was now standing beside him. “Is that...?”
Dean held a protective arm across his brother.
“Dad?” he asked.
